We tried to effect an entrance at the door, which was fastened; but, after a noisy discussion with one of the old witches within, our guide became fidgety, and, at last, told us to desist, or we would spoil all. He then led us off to a distance, to await the performance; as the girls, he said, did not wish to be recognized. He, furthermore, made us promise to remain where we were, until all was over, and the dancers had retired.

  We waited impatiently; and, at last, they came forth. They were arrayed in short tunics of white tappa; with garlands of flowers on their heads. Following them, were the duennas, who remained clustering about the house, while the girls advanced a few paces; and, in an instant, two of them, taller than their companions, were standing, side by side, in the middle of a ring, formed by the clasped hands of the rest. This movement was made in perfect silence.

  Presently, the two girls join hands overhead; and, crying out, “Ahloo! ahloo!” wave them to and fro. Upon which, the ring begins to circle slowly; the dancers moving sideways, with their arms a little drooping. Soon they quicken their pace; and, at last, fly round and round: bosoms heaving, hair streaming, flowers dropping, and every sparkling eye circling in what seemed a line of light.

  Meanwhile, the pair within are passing and repassing each other incessantly. Inclining sideways, so that their long hair falls far over, they glide this way and that; one foot continually in the air, and their fingers thrown forth, and twirling in the moonbeams.

  “Ahloo! ahloo!” again cry the dance queens; and, coming together in the middle of the ring, they once more lift up the arch, and stand motionless.

  “Ahloo! ahloo!” Every link of the circle is broken; and the girls, deeply breathing, stand perfectly still. They pant hard and fast, a moment or two; and then, just as the deep flush is dying away from their faces, slowly recede, all round; thus enlarging the ring.

  Again the two leaders wave their hands, when the rest pause; and now, far apart, stand in the still moonlight, like a circle of fairies. Presently, raising a strange chant, they softly sway themselves, gradually quickening the movement, until, at length, for a few passionate moments, with throbbing bosoms and glowing cheeks, they abandon themselves to all the spirit of the dance, apparently lost to every thing around. But soon subsiding again into the same languid measure, as before, they become motionless; and then, reeling forward on all sides, their eyes swimming in their heads, join in one wild chorus, and sink into each other’s arms.

  Such is the Lory-Lory,2 I think they call it; the dance of the backsliding girls of Tamai.

  While it was going on, we had as much as we could do, to keep the doctor from rushing forward and seizing a partner.

  They would give us no more “hevars” that night; and Rartoo fairly dragged us away to a canoe, hauled up on the lake shore; when we reluctantly embarked, and, paddling over to the village, arrived there in time for a good nap before sunrise.

  The next day, the doctor went about, trying to hunt up the overnight dancers. He thought to detect them by their late rising; but never was man more mistaken; for, on first sallying out, the whole village was asleep, waking up in concert about an hour after. But, in the course of the day, he came across several, whom he at once charged with taking part in the “hevar.” There were some prim-looking fellows standing by (visiting elders from Afrehitoo, perhaps), and the girls looked embarrassed; but parried the charge most skillfully.

  Though soft as doves, in general, the ladies of Tamai are, nevertheless, flavored with a slight tincture of what we queerly enough call the “devil;” and they showed it on the present occasion. For when the doctor pressed one rather hard, she all at once turned round upon him, and, giving him a box on the ear, told him to “harree perrar!” (be off with himself.)

  CHAPTER 64

  MYSTERIOUS

  There was a little old man, of a most hideous aspect, living in Tamai, who, in a coarse mantle of tappa, went about the village, dancing, and singing, and making faces. He followed us about, wherever we went; and, when unobserved by others, plucked at our garments, making frightful signs for us to go along with him somewhere, and see something.

  It was in vain, that we tried to get rid of him. Kicks and cuffs, even, were at last resorted to; but, though he howled like one possessed, he would not go away, but still haunted us. At last, we conjured the natives to rid us of him; but they only laughed; so, we were forced to endure the dispensation as well as we could.

  On the fourth night of our visit, returning home late from paying a few calls through the village, we turned a dark corner of trees, and came full upon our goblin friend; as usual, chattering, and motioning with his hands. The doctor, venting a curse, hurried forward; but, from some impulse or other, I stood my ground, resolved to find out what this unaccountable object wanted of us. Seeing me pause, he crept close up to me, peered into my face, and then retreated, beckoning me to follow; which I did.

  In a few moments the village was behind us; and with my guide in advance, I found myself in the shadow of the heights overlooking the farther side of the valley. Here, my guide paused, until I came up with him; when, side by side, and without speaking, we ascended the hill.

  Presently, we came to a wretched hut, barely distinguishable in the shade cast by the neighboring trees. Pushing aside a rude, sliding door, held together with thongs, the goblin signed me toenter. Within, it looked dark as pitch; so, I gave him to understand that he must strike a light, and go in before me. Without replying, he disappeared in the darkness; and, after groping about, I heard two sticks rubbing together, and, directly saw a spark. A native taper was then lighted, and I stooped, and entered.

  It was a mere kennel. Foul old mats, and broken cocoa-nut shells, and calabashes were strown about the floor of earth; and overhead, I caught glimpses of the stars through chinks in the roof. Here and there, the thatch had fallen through, and hung down in wisps.

  I now told him to set about what he was going to do, or produce whatever he had to show without delay. Looking round fearfully, as if dreading a surprise, he commenced turning over and over the rubbish in one corner. At last, he clutched a calabash, stained black, and with the neck broken off; on one side of it was a large hole. Something seemed to be stuffed away in the vessel; and after a deal of poking at the aperture, a musty old pair of sailor trowsers was drawn forth; and, holding them up eagerly, he inquired, how many pieces of tobacco I would give for them.

  Without replying, I hurried away; the old man chasing me, and shouting as I ran, until I gained the village. Here, I dodged him, and made my way home, resolved never to disclose so inglorious an adventure.

  To no purpose, the next morning, my comrade besought me to enlighten him: I preserved a mysterious silence.

  The occurrence served me a good turn, however, so long as we abode in Tamai; for the old clothesman never afterward troubled me; but forever haunted the doctor, who, in vain, supplicated Heaven to be delivered from him.

  CHAPTER 65

  THE HEGIRA, OR FLIGHT

  “I say, Doctor,” cried I, a few days after my adventure with the goblin, as, in the absence of our host, we were one morning lounging upon the matting in his dwelling, smoking our reed pipes, “Tamai’s a thriving place; why not settle down?”

  “Faith!” said he, “not a bad idea, Paul. But do you fancy they’ll let us stay, though?”

  “Why, certainly: they would be overjoyed to have a couple of karhowrees for townsmen.”

  “Gad! you’re right, my pleasant fellow. Ha! ha! I’ll put up a banana-leaf as physician from London—deliver lectures on Polynesian antiquities—teach English in five lessons, of one hour each—establish power-looms for the manufacture of tappa—lay out a public park in the middle of the village, and found a festival in honor of Captain Cook!”

  “But, surely, not without stopping to take breath,” observed I.

  The doctor’s projects, to be sure, were of a rather visionary cast; but we seriously thought, nevertheless, of prolonging our stay in the valley for an indefinite period; and, with this understanding, we were turning over various plans for spending our time pleasantly, when several women came running into the house, and hurriedly besought us to heree! heree! (make our escape), crying out something about the mickonarees.

  Thinking that we were about to be taken up under the act for the suppression of vagrancy, we flew out of the house, sprang into a canoe before the door, and paddled with might and main over to the opposite side of the lake.

  Approaching Rartoo’s dwelling, was a great crowd, among which we perceived several natives, who, from their partly European dress, we were certain did not reside in Tamai.

  Plunging into the groves, we thanked our stars that we had thus narrowly escaped being apprehended as runaway seamen, and marched off to the beach. This, at least, was what we thought we had escaped.

  Having fled the village, we could not think of prowling about its vicinity, and then returning; in doing so, we might be risking our liberty again. We therefore determined upon journeying back to Martair; and setting our faces thitherward, we reached the planters’ house about nightfall. They gave us a cordial reception, and a hearty supper; and we sat up talking until a late hour.

  We now prepared to go round to Taloo, a place from which we were not far off when at Tamai; but wishing to see as much of the island as we could, we preferred returning to Martair, and then going round by way of the beach.

  Taloo, the only frequented harbor of Imeeo, lies on the western side of the island, almost directly over against Martair. Upon one shore of the bay stands the village of Partoowye,1 a missionary station. In its vicinity is an extensive sugar plantation—the best in the South Seas, perhaps—worked by a person from Sydney.

  The patrimonial property of the husband of Pomaree, and every way a delightful retreat, Partoowye was one of the occasional residences of the court. But at the time I write of, it was permanently fixed there, the queen having fled thither from Tahiti.

  Partoowye, they told us, was, by no means, the place Papeetee was. Ships seldom touched, and very few foreigners were living ashore. A solitary whaler, however, was reported to be lying in the harbor, wooding and watering, and said to be in want of men.

  All things considered, I could not help looking upon Taloo as offering “a splendid opening” for us adventurers. To say nothing of the facilities presented for going to sea in the whaler, or hiring ourselves out as day laborers in the sugar plantation, there were hopes to be entertained of being promoted to some office of high trust and emolument, about the person of her majesty, the queen.

  Nor was this expectation altogether Quixotic. In the train of many Polynesian princes, roving whites are frequently found: gentlemen pensioners of state, basking in the tropical sunshine of the court, and leading the pleasantest lives in the world. Upon islands little visited by foreigners, the first seaman that settles down, is generally domesticated in the family of the head chief or king; where he frequently discharges the functions of various offices, elsewhere filled by as many different individuals. As historiographer, for instance, he gives the natives some account of distant countries; as commissioner of the arts and sciences, he instructs them in the use of the jackknife, and the best way of shaping bits of iron hoop into spearheads; and as interpreter to his majesty, he facilitates intercourse with strangers; besides instructing the people generally in the uses of the most common English phrases, civil and profane; but oftener the latter.

  These men generally marry well; often—like Hardy of Hannamanoo2—into the blood royal.

  Sometimes they officiate as personal attendant, or First Lord in Waiting, to the king. At Amboi, one of the Tonga Islands, a vagabond Welshman bends his knee as cupbearer to his cannibal majesty. He mixes his morning cup of “arva,”3 and, with profound genuflections, presents it in a cocoa-nut bowl, richly carved. Upon another island of the same group, where it is customary to bestow no small pains in dressing the hair—frizzing it out by a curious process, into an enormous Pope’s-head—an old man-of-war’s-man fills the post of barber to the king. And as his majesty is not very neat, his mop is exceedingly populous; so that, when Jack is not engaged in dressing the head intrusted to his charge, he busies himself in gently titillating it—a sort of skewer being actually worn about in the patient’s hair for that special purpose.

  Even upon the Sandwich Islands, a low rabble of foreigners is kept about the person of Tammahammaha, for the purpose of ministering to his ease or enjoyment.

  Billy Loon, a jolly little negro, tricked out in a soiled blue jacket, studded all over with rusty bell-buttons, and garnished with shabby gold lace, is the royal drummer and pounder of the tambourine. Joe, a wooden-legged Portuguese, who lost his leg by a whale, is violinist; and Mordecai, as he is called, a villainous-looking scamp, going about with his cups and balls in a side pocket, diverts the court with his jugglery. These idle rascals receive no fixed salary, being altogether dependent upon the casual bounty of their master. Now and then they run up a score at the Dance Houses in Honolulu, where the illustrious Tammahammaha III. afterward calls and settles the bill.

  A few years since, an auctioneer to his majesty, came near being added to the retinue of state. It seems that he was the first man who had practiced his vocation on the Sandwich Islands; and delighted with the sport of bidding upon his wares, the king was one of his best customers. At last he besought the man to leave all and follow him, and he should be handsomely provided for at court. But the auctioneer refused; and so the ivory hammer lost the chance of being borne before him on a velvet cushion, when the next king went to be crowned.

  But it was not as strolling players, nor as footmen out of employ, that the doctor and myself looked forward to our approaching introduction to the court of the Queen of Tahiti. On the contrary, as before hinted, we expected to swell the appropriations of bread-fruit and cocoa-nuts on the Civil List, by filling some honorable office in her gift.

  We were told, that to resist the usurpation of the French, the queen was rallying about her person all the foreigners she could. Her partiality for the English and Americans was well known; and this was an additional ground for our anticipating a favorable reception. Zeke had informed us, moreover, that by the queen’s counselors at Partoowye, a war of aggression against the invaders at Papeetee4 had been seriously thought of. Should this prove true, a surgeon’s commission for the doctor, and a lieutenancy for myself, were certainly counted upon in our sanguine expectations.

  Such, then, were our views, and such our hopes in projecting a trip to Taloo. But in our most lofty aspirations, we by no means lost sight of any minor matters which might help us to promotion. The doctor had informed me, that he excelled in playing the fiddle. I now suggested, that as soon as we arrived at Partoowye, we should endeavor to borrow a violin for him; or if this could not be done, that he should manufacture some kind of a substitute, and thus equipped, apply for an audience of the queen. Her well known passion for music would at once secure his admittance; and so, under the most favorable auspices, bring about our introduction to her notice.

  “And who knows,” said my waggish comrade, throwing his head back, and performing an imaginary air by briskly drawing one arm across the other, “who knows, that I may not fiddle myself into her majesty’s good graces, so as to become a sort of Rizzio5 to the Tahitian princess.”

  CHAPTER 66

  HOW WE WERE TO GET TO TALOO

  The inglorious circumstances of our somewhat premature departure from Tamai, filled the sagacious doctor, and myself, with sundry misgivings for the future.

  Under Zeke’s protection, we were secure from all impertinent interference in our concerns, on the part of the natives. But as friendless wanderers over the island, we ran the risk of being apprehended as runaways, and as such, sent back to Tahiti. The truth is, that the rewards constantly offered for the apprehension of deserters from ships, induce some of the natives to eye all strangers suspiciously.

  A passport was therefore desirable; but such a thing had never been heard of in Imeeo. At last, Long Ghost suggested, that as the Yankee was well known, and much respected all over the island, we should endeavor to obtain from him some sort of paper, not only certifying to our having been in his employ, but also to our not being highwaymen, kidnappers, nor yet runaway seamen. Even written in English, a paper like this would answer every purpose; for the unlettered natives, standing in great awe of the document, would not dare to molest us until acquainted with its purport. Then, if it came to the worst, we might repair to the nearest missionary, and have the passport explained.

  Upon informing Zeke of these matters, he seemed highly flattered with the opinion we entertained of his reputation abroad; and he agreed to oblige us. The doctor at once offered to furnish him with a draught of the paper; but he refused, saying he would write it himself. With a rooster’s quill, therefore, a bit of soiled paper, and a stout heart, he set to work. Evidently, he was not accustomed to composition; for his literary throes were so violent, that the doctor suggested that some sort of a Cæsarian operation1 might be necessary.

  The precious paper was at last finished; and a great curiosity it was. We were much diverted with his reasons for not dating it.

  “In this here dumned climmate,” he observed, “a feller can’t keep the run of the months, no how; cause there’s no seasons; no summer and winter, to go by. One’s etarnally thinkin’ it’s always July, it’s so pesky hot.”

  A passport provided, we cast about for some means of getting to Taloo.

  The island of Imeeo is very nearly surrounded by a regular breakwater of coral, extending within a mile or less of the shore. The smooth canal within, furnishes the best means of communication with the different settlements; all of which, with the exception of Tamai, are right upon the water. And so indolent are the Imeeose, that they think nothing of going twenty or thirty miles round the island in a canoe, in order to reach a place not a quarter of that distance by land. But as hinted before, the fear of the bullocks has something to do with this.